“God bless the potholes
Down on memory lane
I hope some real big ones open up
And take some of the memories that do remain.”
-Randy Newman, lyrics from “Potholes”
I’ve finally decided that, based on the recent weather, regardless of what the calendar says, in Wisconsin anyway, spring doesn’t exist. It’s an illusion, an old wives’ tale. The white stuff that fell from the sky Saturday afternoon and Monday morning is purely winter material, as are the recent temperatures.
There is and always will be great dialogue of course about the seasons in Wisconsin. People used say we have two seasons, winter and road construction. But as you’ve noticed, highway repair crews pay no attention to the weather anymore. They have things torn up all year long. So ‘road construction’ as a season is out.
I do think this two-season thing has some merit, but it may be too limiting. Since we’ve established that spring doesn’t exist, what about fall? I’d argue that there is really no fall either. In September and October you’re either on the golf course or you’re firing up the snow blower. The leaves change color and hit the ground with such rapidity that “fall colors” are really Halloween costumes.
Without spring and fall, I still think we need a third season to describe the one in which we’re firmly entrenched. Unfortunately, “hell” is already taken. So what shall we call this gloomy period? How about “Pothole”?
Ah, the pothole — scourge of safe driving, pariah of the pavement, hell on the highway. It is an annual rite of this time of year, one that turns the smoothest commute into a disaster-dodging obstacle course.
Milwaukee’s roads are inherently lousy, we know that. Winter kicks the crap out of them. Regardless of where you are or where you’re going, if its on local streets, you can count on a jaw-grinding, bone-rattling thrill ride that will test the mettle of even the smoothest cars. And dentures. If you come out of it without needing a front-end alignment, you’ve done well.
This time of year, there are so many potholes that you really can’t tell one from another. I watched one of our local DPW trucks filling some of them this morning. The guy with the orange vest was shoveling tar to patch as many holes as he could, without smoothing them, possibly so he could still get to Panera for coffee and a bagel – and cars would ride through the still-to-dry tarred pothole, spraying the tar all over the street, the lawns and the bottom of their cars.
What to do. We can get through the lousy weather with positive thinking, believing that summer can’t be that far off. Can’t we? As far as potholes are concerned, maybe we just take different routes. There are actually streets in Milwaukee that don’t have potholes. They are nearly 80 years old. They used a miracle product at that time, which was environmentally friendly, could be recycled and contained no expensive petroleum. It was called cement.
Safe driving, everyone.
